


A Winter's Chill

by CuFeilidh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Fluff, Gen, One Shot, Sick Arthur, maybe..., the beginning of bromance??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuFeilidh/pseuds/CuFeilidh
Summary: Arthur gets sick, and Merlin keeps him company. Merlin winds up catching it too.





	A Winter's Chill

**Author's Note:**

> A silly, fluffy one shot, one of which I had yet to try writing
> 
> Basically I got tired of editing my current, mostly finished WIP, so I whipped this up for kicks ;)

Merlin grabbed either side of the curtain hangings covering Arthur’s bedroom window and whipped them open with the intolerable enthusiasm of a natural morning person. 

“Rise and shine!” He said, waltzing over to the bed to badger up the lump within the heavy blankets. He snatched up the covers and flung them off the sleeping prince, announcing as he did so, “I’ve outdone myself Arthur, just look upon the beauty of this breakfast I brought you. I think I’ll have t--oh dear…”

Merlin recoiled at the sight of Arthur, now revealed in the watery, winter morning light. His face was so pale that he nearly matched his white night shirt, save for the red spots glowing on his cheeks. And Merlin didn’t think it was the quality of the light that did it. His nose too was red and raw from where he’d been rubbing at it with the small mountain of kerchiefs piled next to him--under the covers so he’d not have to reach out to find them. Merlin looked forward to cleaning up that little mess later.

“Hhrrrrnghhh…” was about the only sound that came out of the sickly, prone figure, who lay there blearily blinking up at his servant with crusty eyes. He didn’t even snatch the blankets back. He just sniffed, swallowed painfully, and looked pathetic.

“Ah… well, maybe I’ll just fetch you a bit of tea then?”

A woozy nod. Merlin went over to the table, ignoring the hearty breakfast he’d made up, and poured a cup of water. He brought it over to Arthur, who was looking particularly parched after breathing through his mouth all night, no doubt. He took it without acknowledgement and sipped at it slowly, staring into space. Merlin took the opportunity to put a quick hand to his forehead to check the temperature. The fact that he wasn’t immediately swatted away spoke about as loudly of Arthur’s state as the heat radiating off him. Definitely a moderate fever.

“Be right back,” Merlin said over his shoulder as he took back the tray of food and went to fetch a hot drink instead. There was a faint grunt behind him that could have been a reply, or could have been a pained throat clearing. Merlin shut the door quietly and headed for the kitchens.

“Morning, mate.” Gwaine met him about half way there and reached a hand to the tray, his usual reaction to seeing Merlin--or anyone really--bearing food of any kind. To his obvious surprise, Merlin let him grab a fruit pastry, and raised his brows as he bit into it.

“Morning,” Merlin replied, and twisted his face in a grimace. “Arthur’s caught quite a nasty sickness this morning. Doesn’t want a thing to eat.” He said, explaining his sudden generosity. “Wouldn’t go near him for a bit, or you’ll join him.”

“Ah,” said Gwaine stickily around a mouthful of preserve, inadvertently blowing several flakes of pastry out of his mouth towards Merlin. The warlock stepped back with a crinkled nose, but allowed him to take another pastry and stuff several pieces of fruit into his pockets.

Finally Gwaine swallowed and cleared his throat. “That’s actually where I’m headed. Leon says Agravaine’s called a council meeting. Says it’s important.” He twiddled his fingers, hand hovering over the tray to see what else he wanted, finally settling on stuffing a handful of sausages into a buttered roll.

“Hope it’s not too important. Arthur looks barely able to get out of bed.” 

“Well, I’ll see what he has to say,” Gwaine said, mouth full again. Merlin shrugged and turned turned to leave, was stopped by a hand on his shoulder that then reached over it to snatch up a bit of oatcake, and then was finally allowed to continue on with a significantly lighter tray. He shook his head in amusement. Where did that man put it all?

He traded his tray in at the kitchens for a different one with a brimming pot of water and a large earthenware cup. Gwen saw him in there as he was about to leave, and after Merlin told her of Arthur’s predicament, took pity on the prince and added a generous little bowl of honey to the tray.

“It’ll soothe his throat,” she said, and Merlin thanked her, smiling at her sweetness.

He took a detour up to his own and Gaius’s chambers to see what the physician would recommend, and bumbled into the door with his laden hands.

“Merlin?” Gaius met him at the door and helped him open and close it as Merlin entered and put the tray down. “What’re you doing back so soon? I hardly think you came to fetch me a bit of tea?” 

“Arthur’s sick. Looks terrible, pretty good fever too.” He wandered over to one of the work tables covered in various bottles and paper packets of herbs and began looking through them haphazardly. “What do you recommend? I’m going to make him a bit of a decoction or something. Make him feel better.”

Gaius waved him away from the table impatiently and pushed him into a chair to wait, then walked over to a cabinet and began expertly selecting a variety of remedies from various shelves and drawers.

“There,” he said, evidently satisfied with his selection, and dumping several things next to the tray. “We’ll make it up here so it’ll start brewing, then I’ll go with you to see for myself. Can’t have the prince coming down with anything serious.”

Merlin nodded, and helped crumble up some of the plant matter into the pot. That finished, Merlin replaced the lid and followed Gaius out the door, his mentor snatching up his medical bag on the way out.

When they got to Arthur’s chambers it was to find him sitting up on the edge of his bed, still wearing his nightshirt, but with his trousers around his ankles, as if he’d begun to put them on but ran out of energy part way. He was sitting there silently, slightly hunched over and shivering, and did not look over when they entered.

“Got your tea then, Arthur,” Merlin said cordially, putting down the tray and pouring the dark brew into the cup over a large spoon of honey.

Arthur accepted it with a nod, one of the first signs of humanity Merlin had yet seen from him that morning, and sat blowing on it. He clutched the cup tight with his fingers, trying to leech off as much warmth as he could into his body, it seemed.

Gaius puttered about, putting a hand on the prince’s head, looking into his eyes and mouth, asking various questions that Arthur answered in a voice like a troll’s.

“Drink that up sire,” he ordered kindly, “it’ll help with the congestion and the headache”

Arthur nodded obediently and took a sip. He pulled a face--anyone who thought herbal remedies generally tasted good had clearly never tried any, but seemed to appreciate either the warmth, or what he knew it would do for him, and sipped it slowly down.

“Compliments of Gwen,” Merlin grinned, dumping both more of the tisane into the drained cup, and another large dollop of honey, and gesturing to the latter. Arthur smiled mildly at the sound of her name.

After a single careful sip from the steaming refill, and a great and horrendously wet sniff, Arthur made move to set down the cup and began another attempt with his trousers.

“And where do you think you’re going, your highness?” Gaius said, polite as always, but with the full authority of a king’s physician.

“Meeting.” Arthur croaked, barely getting out the word and wincing as he swallowed. “S‘mportant.”

“Well I can’t stop you, sire,” said Gaius skeptically, “but you’ve caught quite a winter’s chill. I really wouldn’t recommend it…” Arthur continued slowly pulling up his waistband, ignoring this bit of advice.

“I can,” piped up Merlin, cheerfully. 

Arthur found himself immediately set upon by his beaming manservant, who began by forcibly ripping the prince’s trousers off by both legs, and then shoving him back onto the mattress. 

“Merlin,” Arthur growled, or at least, he tried to. It was more like a sad sort of quack. The man tried to fight back, Merlin gave him credit. Every bit the valiant knight, he thought, grinning away and forcefully fluffing up the pillows around his patient.

Gaius watched all this with tactful silence and a quirked eyebrow. When Merlin finally tucked the blankets forcefully down each of Arthur’s sides and stuffed the mug back into his hands, he chose to reenter the scene, helpfully saying, “it really is for the best, sire. I’ll inform the council for you that you’ll be staying in bed for the day.”

Arthur looked as though he was about to argue, but was suddenly struck by a fit of coughing that left him winded and hunched over from the pain in his throat and chest, Merlin hastily snatching back the mug of tea to save it spilling. Finished, Arthur flopped back onto the pillows Merlin had heaped up behind him, white as a sheet. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” He admitted finally in a hoarse whisper, taking back the mug.

With an approving nod, Gaius packed up his things, giving Merlin instruction to keep the room warm and blankets high, but keep a nice soothing cool cloth handy, and he’d be back in a bit with some ointment that would help clear the prince’s chest, so stick around and make sure the patient actually stays put this time. Merlin nodded along, quite used to Arthur’s stubbornness when it came to this sort of thing.

The physician left, latching the door behind him, and Merlin went about the room, building up the fire, bringing over the ewer of water that was generally left in the room for the ablutions of the day, and closing up the curtains to leave only a thin stream of light coming through to see by.

Arthur stayed under his covers quietly, and made no move to get up again, but Merlin knew better than to trust him to it, so he pulled up a chair to the bedside were he’d be able to camp out for the majority of the day. He dunked a cloth into the ewer, squeezed out the excess water, folded it into a convenient rectangle, and placed it gently on Arthur’s forehead. Arthur closed his eyes at the bliss of it, and seemed to fall into a light sleep, breath rattling faintly.

Satisfied, Merlin left him to it, and set about trying to clean the room as quietly as possible, stopping periodically to rewet the cloth. He only dropped one thing--Arthur’s chainmail--which granted, was loud enough, but miraculously did not wake the prince up.

Gaius came back a little while later with a strong smelling unguent to help Arthur’s breathing, and Merlin gently woke him to put it on. Arthur stiffly worked up his shirt with aching muscles to rub it into his chest. He insisted reasonably enough to do the front himself, but allowed Merlin to rub the stuff into his back as well. Within a short time, he was asleep again, and his breathing slowly became a little easier.

Merlin barred the door to all other visitors, sternly turning them away in the name of the prince’s health. Except for Gwen, who came in to keep Arthur company between duties, and to let Merlin out for a bit of a break and a bite to eat.

For most of the afternoon, Merlin sat in his chair, knees drawn up, watching Arthur sleep. It wasn’t so much because the view pleased him so, as endearing as his sleeping face could be, blond hair sticking up round his face like a halo from the wet cloths, but more because there was little else to do. He wished he could bring in some of his books on magic to read, now that he had a rare opportunity to sit in one place for several hours at a time, but obviously that was out of the question. Perhaps he’d ask Gwen to teach him some knitting later.

He was just dreaming up the idea of a fuzzy, warm, seasonal version of his red neckerchief, when Arthur woke up again, to a hacking cough. He’d been sleeping through a few mild fits of these, but they’d been getting worse and had finally roused him.

“I’ll get you some more tea,” Merlin told him, as he sat hunched over, coughing violently into his blankets. When he finally stopped, he was gasping for breath, and could barely hold onto the warm mug Merlin pressed into his hands to drink. He put so much honey in it, it was mostly that, which would hopefully soothe his throat a little. He’d have to fetch more of the stuff, later.

Once his breathing had returned to normal--or at least, his current normal-- Arthur let Merlin put more of the ointment on him, not bothering to help this time. Merlin began a tentative trial of offering his back and shoulders a bit of massage--he knew he always got achy when he got a bout of fever--and Arthur surprisingly let him. 

After a bit of it, Arthur began to lose some of the tension he held in his body there, letting his head loll forwards so Merlin could rub his neck. He hadn’t coughed for a while, which was good, and he seemed to be well on his way back to another sleep.

“Th’nk you,” Arthur barely managed to croak out, when Merlin finally stopped and pulled his rucked up shirt back down. Merlin nodded, a touch surprised, but pleased. Not that he enjoyed seeing Arthur down with a fever, but being sick tended to bring out his vulnerable, kinder side, and damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy it.

“Of course.” He said, pulling the blankets back over him gently, and giving him another cool cloth. 

The sat in companionable silence for a bit, Merlin in his chair, Arthur propped up in a nearly sitting position to ease his lungs a bit. Arthur did doze, but lightly, and he often woke up to look about in a drained sort of way before slipping off again. Every time he woke, he stayed up just a little bit longer, and he began to get bored. 

After a bit of one sided banter, Arthur not being up for much talking, Merlin suggested he read out loud to him some of his reports and things that needed kept up on. Arthur agreed, so Merlin went over to the desk, grabbed a small heap of papers there, and spent the next little while reading to him, and periodically doling out more tea.

This activity morphed into Merlin borrowing a book of tales and magical creatures from Gaius, and bringing it up with him with his own supper, and a bowl of rich broth for Arthur. They spent a surprisingly pleasant few hours as the sun set into an early winter’s evening, with Merlin reading a selection of the stories by candlelight while nibbling at his food, and the two of them ogling over the strange creatures depicted within the pages in wild looking illustrations. Merlin flipped through and found a couple that they’d faced themselves, and they laughed, or in Arthur’s case, coughed horribly, at the unlikeliness of men bringing down griffins and wyverns in the unlikely ways described.

Eventually, Arthur began to grow tired again, and Merlin closed the book, blew out his candle, and let him sleep. As he banked the fire and otherwise prepared the room for the night, Merlin smiled, feeling deeply content. He had felt for the first time in a long while that he had spent an evening in the simple company of a friend, and an equal. It brought to mind his days back in Ealdor years past, spending an evening with Will, sitting round the fire and enjoying each other's company. Laughing and joking, telling stories, and really, just existing together. He knew of course that Arthur would go back to being Arthur, a friend, but alas, a prince. Still, he hoped that Arthur had enjoyed his company too.

Arthur’s fever broke at some point in the night, and the following day, he began to feel a bit better. With his gaining of energy, Merlin noted a definite losing of his own patience. An Arthur with energy was an Arthur with a will and an unfortunate helping of stubborness to boot. He did get up that morning, at his own insistence, and Gaius, coming in for a morning check-up, gave him his blessing to do so, as if he hadn’t, he would have been soundly ignored. To pick his battles wisely, Gaius had long since learned.

The important meeting of yesterday had apparently been held off until that morning, and Merlin sent his charge off in the morning pale, raw nosed, hoarse voiced, and as temperamental as an autumn buck, but dressed. He returned several, apparently harrowing, hours later to his chamber, demanded something more substantial than ‘another damned bowl of broth’, and set himself up in a chair by the fire to poke at what he was brought more than actually eating it. 

When Merlin noted his huddled look, and offered him a blanket off the bed, Arthur sighed and took it with a grateful nod. 

“Thank you, Merlin,” he said as the servant draped it around his shoulders snugly, looking up at him and giving him a slightly guilty smile, as if to apologize for his poor behaviour. It was more apology than he usually received, so Merlin accepted it with grace.

Still, Arthur had him run ragged that day, fetching him things that he didn’t quite have the energy to get himself. As if he ever did his own fetching anyway, Merlin thought on his fourth trip back to the room at least that afternoon, this time with another tray of food for both Arthur and Leon, with whom he apparently wished to discuss training tactics. Merlin secretly thought he had just gotten bored again. What little of the conversation he bothered eavesdropping in on, as he waited around for his next task, was frightfully dull. Still, the knight and the prince looked engaged enough.

By that evening, Arthur was almost entirely his usual, arrogant self, and Merlin swore he took some sort of sick pleasure in keeping him on his toes all day, even though, had he thought to notice, he really didn’t do much more than any other day. Perhaps a little less, in fact.

Gwen was in Arthur’s chambers when it came time to bring in Arthur’s supper, and when Merlin set down the tray and began to pour out the wine, he felt a wave of unexpected dizziness, and spilt a bit of the heady stuff over the fruit bowl.

“Merlin!” Arthur huffed in exasperation, shoving his chair back to avoid the thin, red stream making its way over the table towards his lap.

“Alright, Merlin?” Asked Gwen in concern, quickly grabbing the pitcher and goblet from his hands. “Maybe I should do this,” she offered gently, and took over pouring Arthur his wine.

Arthur thanked her, taking both the filled goblet, which he set down, and her hand, which he kissed, and then brought his attention back to Merlin, who was mopping up the table with a table napkin. He looked over at him critically. “You do seem a little pale, Merlin. Well, paler.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Well it’s no wonder, looking after you for two days when your sick and all. Very needy patient you are, Arthur.”

Arthur continued to peer at him. “You’re getting sick, aren’t you?”

“Course not!” Merlin said, “I don’t get sick. Haven’t been ill for years.” He stood up straight as if to illustrate his perfect health, and sniffed disdainfully. Or he tried to. He sniffed, choked, and wound up with a minor coughing fit.

Arthur edged his plate away from his hacking, lifting up one side of his upper lip in an expression of mild disgust, but said kindly, “Maybe you ought to take the rest of the night off, Merlin. Get some rest perhaps.”

Merlin opened his mouth up to argue some more, but closed it again, having then actually heard what Arthur had said. “Are you giving me the night off?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes, Merlin. Go rest.”

“I--...” he blinked a bit in disbelief, but shrugged, shaking his admittedly somewhat heavy and clogged feeling head. “Yes, sire.” He turned and let himself out.

Heading back to his and Gaius’s rooms, he reluctantly admitted to himself that maybe, just perhaps, he was getting just a little bit ill. He’d put himself to bed early, get a good rest like Arthur said, and nip this thing in the bud. By morning he’d be raring to go.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Merlin was sound asleep.

* * * * * * *

The next morning, Gaius, an earlier riser than most of the castle, sat eating his porridge in peaceful silence as the sun slowly climbed over the horizon. He enjoyed these quiet mornings to himself, when his chambers housed no patients, and few people were yet awake to disturb him. This morning, like many others, he sat and ate while pouring over his books and scrolls, and reviewed his notes on who was likely to need what that day. He sipped a cup of tea, and leisurely wrote out a list of things he’d like to ask Merlin to get from the market that day when he had the time.

Thinking of Merlin, Gaius recalled that he had went to bed quite early the night before, saying he felt a little off. He had indeed looked a little peaked, but had politely refused his offer to make him up a remedy, insisting he just needed rest. Gaius looked out the window. It was about the time that the boy be stirring, but he heard no evidence that he was yet awake. He set aside his quill and list, and got up to check on his ward.

When he opened the door and peered inside Merlin’s room, it was immediately clear to the physician that Merlin had contracted whatever it was that Arthur had caught two days previous. Merlin was deathly pale, shivering lightly, and breathing with that worrying rattle. Gaius sighed, and turned around to start making him up his tea. There would be no going to work for him today.

Gaius gently got Merlin propped up on a pile of spare bedding, with an extra blanket over top, and a cup of tea and one of water at hand. Merlin had wanted to get up, much like a certain other patient had wanted to recently, but when Gaius threatened to steal his trousers, Merlin took the hint and lay back down sheepishly.

When Gaius went to Arthur himself to report that Merlin was unwell, Arthur had naturally pretended to be terribly annoyed and inconvenienced at his manservant's absence, but the physician had been able to see through his charades since his toddlerhood. He nodded along sympathetically, and excused himself back to take care of his newest patient.

Merlin was much as Arthur had been two days before; completely miserable, but once Gaius had the fever under control, in little actual danger. For most of the morning and afternoon, he slept, waking only to sip at liquids and cough fitfully.

Early that evening, Gaius found himself once again at his table, reading by the light of the dying sunlight. He picked up a spoonful of the stew he had been nibbling at, when a knock sounded at his door. Used to receiving visitors at far stranger times as court physician, he put down his spoon without a thought and went to answer his door.

To his immense surprise, none other than the prince of Camelot stood self-consciously in his doorway with a tray. Not quite translating the sight of the young prince with a serving tray, he asked in mild confusion, “Sire, are you feeling unwell again?”

Arthur cleared his throat and shuffled from one foot to the other in uncharacteristic awkwardness. “Er, no I-- ahem. We borrowed your book yesterday, and I was just bringing it back.”

Arthur lowered the tray slightly to show that, indeed, it did contain the book Gaius had lent Merlin yesterday. It sat next to a steaming tea pot and an empty earthenware mug as well, which was a little less obvious in meaning.

Gaius raised his brows, “I see. Thank you, sire.” He took the book, and looked back at Arthur expectantly. 

The prince cleared his throat again, and looked up at the ceiling, seemingly looking for inspiration of what to say up there. Apparently he found it, for he added, “I was also hoping I might bring Merlin a bit of tea.” He looked sheepish, and flushed a little red about the ears, but Gaius smiled warmly, and ushered him into his chambers.

Arthur admitted that, not knowing what would be best, he had in fact only brought up a hot pot of water, and might Gaius have some bits of plants or something to put in it?

Gaius was pleased to do so, and put in the usual mixture. Arthur picked back up the tray and headed carefully to Merlin’s door. He paused and turned back to Gaius.

“Do you maybe have a book that Merlin might like?” He reddened again, but was less tentative now that Gaius had proven he’d not make a big deal of the whole gesture.

With a knowing smile, Gaius picked up a volume from the window ledge, and set it on the tray with a wink. Flustered, Arthur turned around and clumsily let himself through the door--he was a bit taken aback that the clumsy Merlin did in fact make opening a door, while holding a tray of hot liquids, look easier than it was.

Merlin looked up groggily at the sound of the door closing shut, further squinting his eyes in consternation when his visitor turned out to be the prince. 

“Arthur?” A voice sounding nothing like Merlin’s usual voice, squawked up at him.

“Er, yes.” Arthur confirmed setting his tray down on a little table that was already set up holding a pitcher and cup, next to an empty chair. “I thought maybe you’d, er, maybe want me to read for a bit.” 

He could feel that his face was beet red at this point, and he looked at his servant, and closest friend, with intense embarrassment. He felt so far out of his usual comfort zone in fact, that he currently figured it’d be easier to face down another dragon than do a simple thing like this. Damn this stupid being vulnerable nonsense!

As soon as he voiced his suggestion though, Merlin’s face split into such a sunny smile that he immediately forgot to be embarrassed. Instead, he grinned back, poured out a cup of tea, and handed it over to his sickly friend. Then, settling himself comfortably on the chair, and adjusting Merlin’s bedside candle for optimal light, he took the book up on his lap, flipped it to the first page, and cleared his throat.

“Lo, the Spear-Dane’s glory…”

**Author's Note:**

> The last line is randomly just a translated version of the beginning of Beowulf. I wanted an old story it would be probable they'd have heard of, and also, its a poem, which makes me laugh due to the whole Arthur/poetry thing, and I'm a dork XD


End file.
